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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165179">Heather?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myriadblvck/pseuds/Myriadblvck'>Myriadblvck</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Being Lost, Degrading Cursing, Depression, Falling In Love, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, OCD, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Simon Snow, Panic Attacks, Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Simon Snow is Gay for Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, The tables have turned, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, Watford (Simon Snow), being outed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:49:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myriadblvck/pseuds/Myriadblvck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh how the tables have turned...Basically Simon being completely aware that he is in love with baz, baz has a girlfriend (who isn't actually his girlfriend) penny knows about simon being queer, its a whole sob story, baz and simon make out in the woods, I don't know how else to explain it (It'S A SIERIES BE PATIENT) </p><p>Baz and his girlfriend have been together for, like, 645 days (not that I'm counting). I'm watching him play football, once again, because I'm the weakest living thing in existence. His stupid girlfriend is sitting next to his water bottle, holding it to his mouth and pulling his hair back into the headband he was wearing (her headband is stupidly pink, I hate how pink she is). He even kisses her before going back out to practice (how disgusting) I can't believe she is with him even after being aware of how dangerous he is; he's a bloody vampire! I have even gotten good at drawing because I'm so bloody in love with Basil that I draw his idiot face all over my notes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Bunce &amp; Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce &amp; Simon Snow &amp; Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I LOVE SIMON AND BAZ AND PENNY (AND AGATHA EVEN IF SHE IS A MINOR CHARACTER IN THIS WORK) PLS I TRY MY BEST AND MY SCHOOL IS IMPORTANT TO ME</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u"> SNOW  </span> </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think that Basil genuinely hates me. I do. He's just a big arsehole when he talks to me. It is either an insult or- or an insult! Have you ever dealt with someone so bloody bold that it just makes you want to rip off their clothes- well that did <em> not  </em> come out how I was expecting it, now did it? Anyway, I'm in the Wavering Wood to try and complete a simple spell.  <em> Simple for people who aren't complete H-bombs that is.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe Baz would compliment me, tell me how great it is that I finally did something that could make anybody The Chosen One. <strong> <em> "As clean as a whistle!"  </em> </strong>  I put as much magic as someone who is always swarming with magic can put into the word 'clean'. Maybe I'm saying the spell wrong. Or, it doesn't work on rocks that have been thrown deliberately into the mud.  <em> "You're just the most acute mage to exist! Crowley, Snow! You cannot even clean off a bloody rock with magic!"  </em>That's what Baz would say, tumbling over in laughter. Not a perfect, silky, coal coloured hair out of place. (I feel anger at the fact that he is so perfect. I often wish I was perfect) Anything would be comforting at the moment, except for Baz yelling with laughter, so I take the time to praise the Gods that he isn't. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think that I have been staring at the rock that is now just charred. At least the mud is gone? I mark that as a positive. I feel angry, so I throw the rock and try putting magic into the throw. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. It did nothing but launch it further, so I don't care. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I shove my hands into my pockets and start walking out of the wood. I think about Baz while I walk. He should be at football practice at this hour. After football practice, he sulks in the catacombs to feed. (Or talk to his mum) I've always tried to make out his elegant figure in the dark when he goes down to the catacombs. I can only tell that his shoulders stay slouched when he walks. I try to make out his facial features because I wonder if his fangs pop out when he gets hungry or if they only come out when he needs them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I have enough time to rush to our room for my homework and run back to a tree near the pitch. I fish my phone out of my backpack (a gift from Penny's mum last X-Mas.) to text Penelope. If she's around, I tend to look less at Baz and more at my work. <em> Do I not look at Basil because I am afraid that she will find out, or because she already knows?  </em>Electronics aren't allowed at Watford. Penny magicked mine for me. Nearly everybody has a phone, and The Mage doesn't notice. I often wonder if he cares about me. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> <span class="u"> Penny, I'm out by the pitch doing work.  </span> </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> <span class="u"> We should study together.  </span> </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> <span class="u"> Or you study, and I talk. </span> </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Penny doesn't respond to me, but that's because she says she doesn't see a reason to respond to a message of where the person is just letting her know where they are. I bring my knees to my chest and stare at Baz's team play. They're exceptional. I hear settling next to me, and I know it's Penny because I can taste her magic in my mouth from the tea and scones she's heating. "I wonder if Baz is so great because of his vampire powers," I state. I hear Penny sigh at my comment. "He's marvellous, Pen." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Simon, I know that you don't like to study. But," she gently places a plate of small sandwiches, scones, and a cup of tea atop my binder, "You have talked each of my ears off about Basil today." I huff and push a whole sandwich in my mouth. I know my magic is rolling off me because Penelope's spells are more potent than usual. (She's a marvellous mage.) I <em> know  </em> that I bother her about Baz too much, but he's so bloody perfect how could I not? D'you know? "If you despise the wretched bloke, why is it you're always yapping about him? He can't be plotting because he's constantly snogging his girlfriend."  <em> Okay Pen, I thought you were observant. No need to stab me in the heart with a sword that's on fire. Even if only I for a sword.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Baz and his girlfriend have been together for, like, 645 days (not that I'm counting). I'm watching him play football, once again, because I'm the weakest living thing in existence. His stupid girlfriend is sitting next to his water bottle, holding it to his mouth and pulling his hair back into the headband he was wearing (her headband is stupidly pink, I hate how pink she is). He even kisses her before going back out to practice (how disgusting) I can't believe she is with him even after being aware of how dangerous he is; he's a bloody vampire! I have even gotten good at drawing because I'm so bloody in love with Basil that I draw his idiot face all over my notes (I don't take notes; I only monitor how much plotting Baz must be getting done with his (disgusting) girlfriend always on his arm) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like now, I mindlessly drew Baz's focused face that he has when he plays football. His face is stupid, so I scribble over it. I often sit out a little ways away from the pitch, enough so I can make fun of Baz for being stupid (and judge his idiot girlfriend). I don't know why I sit here when I would fancy being the one in his pullover. It sort of hurts. I believe Penelope suggesting that his girlfriend is the reason that his hair isn't as perfect as it is anymore. And why he doesn't insult me blindly anymore. <em> Because he's got better things to do, Simon. He hates you.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think Pen is half holding my hand because of how smoky the air got (and the first years getting drunk off my magic) and a half because I ripped through several pages of 'notes' in my little journal. I didn't notice; my throat is burning. I look off to the side and lock eyes with grey ones. <em> Blue and grey, how different are they?  </em>How fucking humiliating is that? "Oh, how perfect! The posh bastard is seeing me lose my shit! He might even convince me he has an idea about who my mum is, so he can bring me out into the Wavering Wood and finish me off!" Penny hides pity with anger and sends a glare towards Baz. I think she genuinely grew hatred in her chest for the first time when he told me to meet him in the woods to get information about my parents. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What a bastard.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Simon," Penelope pulls me into her shoulder and pets my head, "try not to think about Basil for once in your life. I could spell you into my room tonight if you would like?" She gently scratches my backside like how a mother does to a child who is crying over a broken lego tower. My eyes are still locked with Baz's because I can't will myself to focus back into reality and look away. "You force yourself into neurological warfare daily over the bloke. Maybe you should take Mum's advice and date Agatha?" She inquires softly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I have already told both of yous that I'm not interested in Agatha. I'm not interested in g- I'm not interested in anybody." <em> You're interested in Baz,  </em> my mind offers. I don't care that I'm interested in Baz, it's another reason why my parents didn't want me. I probably came out, and they saw me and just  <em> knew  </em>I fancied men. I liked Agatha for a while, but stupid Baz exists. Baz's eyes have left mine now; I hopelessly watch him kiss his girlfriend on the head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I finally look away. Penelope is just telling me to eat my scones and focus on school. Merlin even knows I would rather drown myself than do schoolwork, but I cannot let myself think about Baz. What everybody would say if it were me Baz was kissing on the head after taking a long drink of water and pushing his black locks of hair back into the headband on his head. If it was me at his games wearing his jersey with <em> PITCH  </em>boldly written with his jersey number on it. And then there's a new graphite drawing of Basil on my small journal, his hair falling smoothly next to his eyes. I quite like it when his hair does that. "You know?" I softly speak in the silence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Simon, I knew the day he pushed you down the stairs. I know." She nudges my knee, comfortingly. She gently smiles at me. "I think it would be bloody perfect." I nibble on a sour cherry scone drenched in butter. Penny warms it up for me yet again. I hold my wand over the cup of tea and say the spell she just did. A crack the same width of a hair flies through the side, and I blush harder than I was. I smile because this time the cup didn't catch fire. (I tried it once during afternoon tea and there's still a permanent burn mark over where the cup laid) I look down at my journal with Baz's stupid face, stupid (stupidly fit) body, and idiotic hair. "How is Greek?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I forget about Baz for a moment to rant about how horrid it is. I hate Greek, but Baz has that class (Maybe I have yet to forget about Baz.) (Who am I kidding? Nobody can forget about Basilton Grimm-Pitch.) "..and <em> Baz  </em>is always correcting the stupid teacher!" I sigh deeply. I turn back to look at the field that Baz was playing on with Dev and Niall. He's playing against them at the moment and has just shot the ball between them right into the bloody net. (He must have used vampire powers for that.) (Nobody is that good) "He's got to be doing it to spite me Pen! I know he is! He's always doing things to get under my skin and-" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em> and,"  </em> Penny whacks me over the head with a stack of papers, "you need to shut up about  <em> Baz </em>. I asked how you were doing on your Greek assignments, not about how staring daggers into Basil's head has been going." She pulls her frizzy hair up into a bun (she's fixing the bun, actually) while rolling her eyes. I think it's quite rude of her to interrupt my Baz-rant. "You have more than exceeded your limit of Baz talking today, Simon." Penelope then takes a small bite out of a sandwich. "Hide your queerness from the second years," she's gulping down some tea, too, "You may scare them. Oh! My father has been thinking about some theories about the Humdrum..." I zone out of the conversation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I stare at Baz's backside while she talks my ear off about studies her dad has been doing on the dead spots. Penelope is not the type of person to notice that you aren't paying any attention to her. I'm aware that she assumes that I listen to her every word, but I can't just look at Baz. (I mean he's a marvellous player I think anybody would watch him play) (I'm not biased because I'm in love with the boy.) </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. You said it looked better on me than it did you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simon has a panic attack. that's it. that's the summary.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>iits a short chapter! im sorry! i have a lot of work ovo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>SNOW </p><p> </p><p>I close my eyes as soon as I hear the door to our room open. I'm usually asleep by the time Baz gets back from the catacombs. "Snow, closing your eyes and dropping your notebook on your chest does not make it look like you are asleep. You're a bloody numpty." I huff softly at him and put my notebook and pencil under my pillow. I was drawing him again. I got so good at drawing from watching Baz move and drawing him over the summer at the care homes. I cried, said it was over Greek and ran off to the comfort of my bed. I like the room because it smells of Basil. It even smells of him when I arrive at the beginning of the year. Baz slams the door to the ensuite with his clothes over his arm. I scoff to the loudest of my ability and make the best grimace I can. </p><p>I roll onto my stomach and carefully pull the notebook out from under my pillow. I slowly flip through the pages. My Baz; Basil and me. I had even managed to draw up a picture from my imagination of him playing his violin. He's whacked me with his bow before, the git. I imagine he looks stunning when he's focused, his eyes half-open, his fingers smoothly switching from note to note, firmly but gently gripping the bow in his right hand and allowing it to glide evenly along the strings. I let him play in our room once because I so desperately wanted to sleep with the window open. (Most of our arguments are about the window) (I'm also drawing Baz playing his violin once again) I had pretended to read a comic while he played. I also casually insulted him when he would pause for a moment to look over his music. ("What is it? Has the spell you cast worn off?") ("Shut up you fool! I can hardly focus on my music with how heavily you breathe.") I had stopped insulting him after he insulted me on being talentless. </p><p>I had just finished a bit of his hair when the bathroom door opened and closed. I calmly flipped the page and doodled a dragon (Baz is always completely aware of when I'm off). I feel him staring at the side of my head, possibly my neck, or he is looking at the wall. Baz does weird things to mess with me. I rake both of my hands through my unruly curls. Baz emits a grunt of sorts (Baz always does that when I start raking my hands through my hair. I think it humours him how much uglier I get.) and I get tired of the bastard. "What is it, Pitch? What are you staring at?" His eyes get wide (I never call him Pitch) and he stares at me for a moment. </p><p>"You feeling alright, Simon?" (He never calls me Simon.) I get thrown off my throne of confidence when he says Simon. Is he planning on murdering me? Has he figured out how to harm me without getting booted out of Watford? Has he finished his studies? Is he leaving Watford because of the war? </p><p>"Are you feeling alright, Basilton?" He looks me up and down, his eyes glinting with something. He sits comfortably on his bed and crosses his legs. He looks down to the cross around my neck and then puts a scowl that doesn't match his eyes. His eyes are soft; His face is firm, angry; His eyes are dull, sad even. We have a little stare-off when he blinks I shout with glee, "I won!" I clap my hands once. "Suck on it Baz." His face falls. </p><p>"You're a fucking numpty. No, you're even more idiotic than a numpty! I bet there isn't even a rock for your brain. Just scones!" He's smiling for whatever vulgar reason. "I saw yourself crying like a toddler that didn't get enough naptime when I was at practice, so like the kind man I am; I decided to ask a simple question." Baz smiles a tad wider, "Must I speak slowly, Snow?" He says that sentence slowly as if I'm so dense I'm not able to hear his words. </p><p>"Well if you must know, Baz," I seethe, "I am not alright because I have you in my space." He scowls, then tosses a pillow at full force at me, and it honestly hurts. "Fuck! You arse! Ugly bastard!" I throw it back at him. (I want so badly to replace his with one of mine so I can lay in his scent.) He squints his eyes at me and scoffs. He mutters under his breath and looks over me. (I'm sure he's judging how tiny I am due to not eating over the summer.) I cover my ribs with my arms because I decided I was not going to sleep with a shirt on to spite him. </p><p>"Snow, you were on the brink of a mental breakdown," he presses, "I felt like being nice to you, but you just attempt to scowl at me!" I cross my arms and grunt out a response. (He looks fabulous when he's yelling at me.) Baz stalks off to his backpack to take out his homework; I stare at his ass to spite him. (Yes, to spite him.) I sigh in defeat while he grumbles to himself. Something along the lines of 'stubborn arse' and 'fucking numpty'. I also watch him write because I like to look at his hands. </p><p>Basil is so bloody perfect. I wish he wanted me as I want him. I could lay in his lap and make his hair messy how I like it while he corrects the paper he wrote in Ancient Greek. I didn't realize I had started to cry again until Baz looked at me with deep concern and confusion. I hope he feels guilty. I quickly turn my head away while shoving the journal under my pillow (Baz's bloody eyes are still on me) before closing my eyes. I wish for him to shut his binder and come to sit next to me on my bed, resting his hands on my shoulder. His hands would be rough because they're fire-holders hands. (However, with all his expensive creams I imagine they're soft.) "Snow-" </p><p>"I'm alright. I just had another bad day." I whisper, so he doesn't hear that I'm about to sob. (I'm so pitiful that I wish I were a vampire so I could go off and set myself on fire) I can still feel Baz staring at my back, even after I turn away. I wish more than anything else on this bloody, godforsaken, fucked up world that Baz and I weren't mortal enemies. I want him to hug me and tell me that crying is okay, and being queer is okay, too, and that he didn't mean that I was 'the most acute magician to exist', that he only liked me. </p><p>I bring my bottom lip up into my mouth and grip my cross that's in my chest. I breathe deeply, chew hard on my lip, and dig my fingers into my palm. I feel like ants are crawling all over my body (it's not because I'm about to go off, its because I'm about to have a bloody panic attack) and like ghosts are pulling my intestines out of my body (along with my stomach). My hands start to jerk around, so I clasp them together and push them under my head. </p><p>I know Baz is still looking at me because I can feel his gorgeous grey eyes burning holes into the back of my neck. I want to kill myself more than ever at the moment because I'm having a panic attack in front of Basilton Grimm-Pitch. God, if I could fling myself out of the window, I definitely would, but my body has decided that it doesn't want to move. I feel the waves of endless dread covering my body and pulling me underwater to drown me. </p><p>I feel Baz's hand on my shoulder, pulling me into his chest before my brain can process it. I tense my whole body for the sole purpose that I would kill myself if Baz felt me shaking like a wet kitten in his arms. "I've got you, Simon. I've got you," Baz rubs my back gently, and that's all it takes for me to shake endlessly and sob violently into his arms. He's whispering sweet nothings in my ear, running his fingers through my unruly curls, tracing (what it feels like) my moles and freckles, and squeezing me. I feel like I can breathe for a moment. Then my body stops shaking long enough for me to wrap my arms around Basil and fist his shirt while I cry. (After this attack of mine, I'm going to force wings onto my back and fly far up enough, make them disappear, and then let myself fall to the hard floor of the courtyard.) </p><p>The way that Baz smells is so comforting, (nobody else could comfort me at the moment) and his hands are a bit rough when they go up to feel my back. He's tracing shapes on my body that my heart mistakes for love- affection. (They're still incredibly soft.) He's breathing shakily, and I know (we both know) it's the cross on my chest. I rip it off my neck so hard that the clasp breaks and flies somewhere. I throw it across the room so hard that it slams into the wall and makes a loud noise. Baz exhales slowly, "It's all going to be okay, Simon. Nothing harmful can occur to you if I can help it." </p><p>I know he's just holding me to his chest and saying these things because he pities me. The thought of it makes another sob rack my body, and Baz's lips ghost my forehead. (If I didn't love him as much as I do, I wouldn't have noticed it.) Baz whispers soft, comforting words to me. "I'm- I- S-" I can't talk, but it doesn't stop me from trying. </p><p>"Hush, Snow. You're going to make yourself freak out all over again. Relax for once." My body is still shaking. Baz lifts my covers and gently places it over my waist while rubbing my back. It's incredibly hard not to love him more when he gets sweet out of nowhere. I think Baz is plotting my death. What if he uses it against me? My attack? </p><p>Shit. </p><p>Baz is still rubbing my back and pretending like he isn't gently kissing my forehead (nobody's kissed me there before. Not even Penny.) after I've calmed down. Baz is hushing me softly, still. I think he's tired because it sounds slurred. I grip his shirt harder and hide in his shoulder. He presses his hand into the back of my neck and messes with the tiny curls laid there. </p><p>PITCH</p><p>Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Double fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. </p><p>Shit, shit. Fuck. Shit. </p><p>My brain can't seem to think about anything else when I see Snow start to cry. I was doing some light studying before my shower, and I heard Simon Snow sniff quietly. I think I'm looking at him horrified (confused and concerned; I'm never admitting it.) because it seems like he got yanked out of a thought bubble. He's doing that thing (therapists would classify it as self-harm) where he digs his thumbnail deep into his pointer finger knuckle. (I socked him in the throat once for it, not in our room of course) "Snow-" I was going to apologize before he cuts me off.</p><p>"I'm alright," his voice breaks, but I don't think he notices it, "I just had another bad day," Simon whispers like a toddler when he's supposed to, but when Simon whispers because he isn't able to trust his voice...it sounds broken. It's like everything has crumbled to pieces around him, and he couldn't be the hero. Simon and his bloody hero complex nonsense. Mage's fault. I watch him gingerly climb into his bed. I'm more worried than I should be because Simon has never in his entire existence done anything gingerly. That is not my Snow. (I did not call him mine.)</p><p>My pen falls from my hand as I slowly walk over. Simon is shaking. (Simon doesn't shake. Unless he's excited.)(When he sees Bunce he lights up like a bloody Christmas tree, the idiot.) </p><p>For once, I see Simon for what he is. Not the chosen one, not my nemesis, not even the fit bloke that watches me like a hawk twenty-four-seven. Snow is this broken boy. He has to save everybody because he couldn't even save himself from the demons inside of his soul. He's got all of this magic that he can't control, a (horrible) father-figure who sends him off to kill creatures and whatnot, a roommate who consistently belittles him- shit. </p><p>Did I make Simon Snow curl up into his bed and not be able to breathe? </p><p>I think I accidentally used the vampire-speed because I can't even process that I'm next to Simon's bed before I'm there. I gently place my hand on his shoulder and pull him into my chest. (He's not wearing a shirt, and my shirt does nothing against the bloody cross he's wearing.) I think Simon is trying to stop himself from shaking because I feel his body tense in my arms. I ignore the burning in my chest, "I've got you, Simon. I've got you," I whisper into his hair while rubbing his back. I can see all of the freckles and moles that cover his skin. I'm just barely tracing them together to make constellations. (They're like brown stars on his skin.) (I bet if I searched long enough, I could find the little dipper etched in his skin.) </p><p>Simon starts to sob into my chest, and his hands are reaching to my shirt and balling it up tightly. (I don't let myself to not think of the wrinkles that are going to be there.) I whisper to him that he's going to be alright, that I've got him, that he's safe, and gently run my fingers through the beautiful golden locks that rest in a mess on the top of his head. Simon is shaking, sobbing, and endlessly tugging on my shirt. He's just a baby. That's all he is.</p>
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